Flying Death

~Four Years Ago~

~Black Fog Pack~

~Travis’ Point of View~

I struggle to keep my good eye open, my feet are already cut up and protesting, demanding I stop. But, there’s no stopping.

Every single step is a step further away from him. A step toward a new life. It has to be.

My will to survive is too strong, but surviving for what? That I didn’t know. Keep breathing, keep moving. That's all I know. When you raise yourself you don’t trust anyone, you question everything. How I made it past infancy, I’ll never understand.

This was hardly my first time in this situation, but I’ll be damned if it’s not my last. I’ve let the adults in my life control me for far too long, it’s over. Today, I take control of my life. I answer only to my wolf, whenever he finally comes.

You’d think with how hard I was trying to get away that I was at least running from my Alpha, well… since I’m only a pup I don’t yet have an Alpha. I didn’t pledge shit to anyone. No loyalty to anyone but myself. I more than know my worthless pack could care less about me.

The freezing whiz of a passing car slices at my flesh, reminding me it’s winter and my skin is exposed. As if I could forget. My teeth are chattering, my complexion is close to blue when it’s usually a nice dark honey.

I’d left home with only the shorts on that I was prepared to wear to bed. My bed being the small, lumpy couch in the living room, where I’m sure to be greeted by my step father every night when he comes home wasted. He’s never, ever happy to see me. Or really anyone for that matter.

My feet continue to move though I can’t feel them, my brain not giving them any specific direction. Just away. How many nights did I stay to defend her, the female tasked with caring for me, supposedly ensuring my safety and well being? The part of my heart that still wished for a family demanded I do it, but I was over it. Over her. Waiting around for what little scraps of affection she’s capable of giving.

She’s not my mother. She’s the vessel that birthed me, maybe. I’d still like to see a DNA test. She stopped being my mother years ago. Mothers cook for their children, clothe them. Help with homework. Do this thing where they … what’s the word?

Care. 

Mothers care.

Nina Mitchell only cares about herself. I wish I could blame drugs, booze. I wish there was some substance that made Nina not give enough of a shit about me to be a mom. It’s just her. Just how she was made. When I say she should have never had me, I mean it. No one will ever change my mind on that.

As I walk I don’t feel the cold anymore. I didn’t feel the betrayal. Any feelings I once had went away with the snap of a belt buckle against my skin. The cut of the leather into my flesh. The stomping of a boot into my spine and the back of my knees. The cigarettes put out into my fingertips. His wolf’s claw drawing my blood, permanently leaving scars I’ll always carry.

Getting out of that cabin and out of this pack is the only option if I want to live.

When you’re told you’re nothing, told you’ll never be anything, you’re inclined to believe it. Adults are supposed to be the ones with answers, supposed to know things. What happens when the adults are pieces of shit? When you beg your so-called Goddess for help she never sends?

You finally take matters into your own hands, damn the consequences. Maybe my supposed parents will look for me, but the pack won’t. They won’t put any resources into bringing someone back who doesn’t want to be there. My mind wanders to the event that led me down this dark road, alone at night. I have no idea if I’m even on my pack’s lands anymore.

I didn’t feel the weight of the nearly full bottle of whiskey in my hand. I didn’t feel my fingers losing their grip on it as blood covered them. When I could no longer hold it, or recognize the man that I stood over, I finally decided enough … was enough.

I’d always mostly felt numb to getting in fights, but this was different. Was the guy dead? I had no clue, and really didn’t give a damn.

I gazed at the brilliant half moon as I continued to stumble through the damp grass, filled with sharp pebbles from the unpaved road. It was nearly full, my wolf could really come anytime now. Any full moon could bring my true life partner. He’d save me from this bullshit human life. I’d never have to be scared anymore, I’d never be hungry. We’d take care of each other.

The idea of turning feral and living in the woods off the land sounds pretty damn good. I’ll learn to fight, hunt and do all that I needed to survive on my own. I wouldn’t need anyone or anything. 

BEEEEP

A violent burst lifted my frail body from the earth, and suddenly I was airborne. I don’t remember landing, I don’t remember the sound of the voices that matched the faces standing over me. It was all a blur I was sure someone could tell me about later.

The only thing that matters now is that I never, ever go back to that place, or the Black Fog Pack.

~Present Day~

“Come on get those elbows up! Much of this is offense, how many times do I gotta say it? You’re only exhausting yourself playing defense, you gotta make me work for it,” I shout, annoyed.

“I’m doing my best Punch,” little Hatch shouts.

“If your best is fighting like a granny,” I reply, running my hand over the little beard I’m working on. 

I reached for his gloved hands.

“You have to practice every single day if you wanna be serious with this ok? I’m not wasting my time on people who aren’t going to match the effort,” I say, looking down at the pup. I wasn’t totally sure but he was probably 12. Really though I was hardest on the kids I liked best, and I think they are onto me.

He nods, his innocent little brown eyes a bit too eager. He begins to take off his gloves and head for the locker room.

All the kids that came to the gym have nicknames. Hatch got his because he liked to hide and you’d never find him either. Then, out of nowhere he’d put his little head up through some hole, some place. Just sticking out of a hatch, in plain sight. It amused my wolf to no end to keep the secret of where he hid. He knew where his smell was at all times.

Hatch was one of the best fighters we had for his age range. The owner of the place, and our Alpha, Axel “Dozer” Dennison, changed the rules a few years back to where real fights were strictly wolf and up. Meaning pups can fight with pups, but if you’ve shifted you don’t fight kids, period.

Any male with a wolf caught fighting a pup for more than just practice would answer to him. That, was something you simply didn’t want.

These kids come here in an effort to better themselves, in every way. Most have shit home lives, and that was something I intervened in when necessary. I couldn’t let it stand. Dozer didn’t always like it but he looked the other way.  If shit ever got out of hand, he’d back me in a heartbeat, or someone from our pack did.

*We need to find a female, blow off some steam,* my wolf whines, trying to get me on his path. 

His path was literally always looking for a soft, curvy body. Certainly not a bad way to spend an evening but lately, they’re all too clingy. They want to spend the night in the packhouse, they wanna wear my clothes. They ask for money or gifts. Fuck all that.

“Calm down Mick, it’s early still,* I say, trying to buy myself some time.

A quick look at the clock on the wall says it's barely 7:45pm, and being a Tuesday there are no fights tonight. That means if I want a female, I’ll have to settle for a Fly. Hardly a bad option but they never quench my thirst well enough. Females that hang around the pack leaders, serving only one purpose.

They’re skinny and too damn eager, too ready to just scratch a name off their list. Flies aren’t the kind of female you want to have more than once anyhow. I don’t like sloppy seconds, thirds and who knows what … and I don’t like clinginess either.

*Stop being picky! I liked that one blonde she had a decent ass,* Mick says, nodding.

Taffy? Tiffy? Miffy? Fuck if I knew or cared. Too whiny. Wanted me to buy her a new purse or some shit. Some of the guys in my pack would do it without a second thought. The Flies took care of the guys and many of them liked to return the favor. 

Not me. I’m a cheap bastard. I work hard for my money and I’m not tossing it in a fire. When I finally get inducted into the pack and make real money, you bet your ass I’m hanging into it. I don’t want to live in the packhouse forever, and I want to be able to buy a house, not mortgage that shit and pay twice what it's worth. 

My pack doesn’t operate within any sort of normal parameters, not like what I knew growing up. We aren’t some backwoods, ignorant trash. We are our own small city and our own keepers, and we like it that way. We have our own banking system, schools, our own everything. 

I snatch a towel and wipe my face; I wasn’t that sweaty but I’d still have to shower. I clean up a few stray things kids had left laying around and shut off the lights in the main area. By the time I’m done I‘m giving fist bumps to the few that were running out, hoping to get home before curfew.

If there's one thing I hate, it’s rules. Funny that I ended up where I did since being caged in by the say-so of authority figures goes against everything I hold dear. 

Only … I kind of owe my life to these assholes. So, not only am I in lockstep with whatever they say, I’m on the path to become one of them.

*Can we at least get a steak? Nice and bloody,* Mick asks, his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth.

Tuesdays were steak and loaded baked potatoes in the packhouse, everyone knows it. Nobody misses it. I was cutting it close, getting home so late though. There better be some left.

*I’m sure she saved us a plate,* Mick said, licking his lips.

“She” meaning Mags. Margaret Hollis showed up out of nowhere about two and a half years ago, claiming to be my grandmother. Said she didn’t know about me until Nina Mitchell got so down and out she went home to mommy. Supposedly, she tossed Nina out on her ass and made it her mission to find me. She not only did, but we haven’t been able to get rid of her since. 

However … I gotta admit I like having her around. The guys do too. She’s often the swift kick in the ass we all need and just about the only one we’ll allow to do it. But we don’t let her stay at the packhouse, it’s no place for her. So we all cover her to rent a small house just up the road. She’s the only female I’ll spend my money on.

Also, unlike where I grew up, no females live in the packhouse. You might have one fall asleep and crash, but you kick her ass out swiftly in the morning. If you want to play house and settle down, you man up get a house somewhere else. Somewhere fitting for a female and a potential family.

I lock up the gym, sighing as I turn and walk across the massive parking lot. Dozer and the pack own an entire mini-mall block of sorts where most of our legit income is generated. Gym, nail and hair salon, daycare, restaurant, accounting firm and a massive garage. Truly, something for everyone. It’s the hub of our little city.

The rumbling of a couple motorcycles filled the air as the bikes rolled into the lot. I flick my head at the familiar males and walk a bit faster, now really wanting that steak.

When I finally reach the door, I take the stairs two or three at a time. Sometimes being a tall muscular bastard has its perks. The upstairs of the entire place is one massive home to every wayward degenerate that ever crossed paths with Dozer Dennison and lived to tell about it. 

Home … to the Flying Death.